


Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley is a normal human. The occasional odd thing might happen to him, like his skin sloughing off or the glimpses of strange creatures he sometimes catches from the corner of his eye. But mostly he's just a normal, boring human with a normal, boring boyfriend.





	Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the original prompt: "Crowley is turned into a human, with no memories of ever being a demon. Only it's kind of a safety pins and scotch tape job, because things keep... leaking through. Glancing in the mirror and seeing snake eyes or too sharp teeth. Nightmares of things past, and nightmares maybe filtered through layers of metaphor, because what he actually was when he fell would be beyond human understanding. His skin itching like it's trying to become scales, finding black feathers on the floor.
> 
> Just... things about his true nature filtering through, but his true nature is too big and different and strange for the human body to really contain or the human mind to really comprehend. I don't need Crowley-the-demon to be portrayed as anything more evil than the soft goober he is, (though if Crowley-the-human finds out that he was and is maybe turning back into a demon, he can be afraid that it makes him evil). Just like. His true nature is Eldritch and Strange and can't be kept by this patch-job of humanity, and that's terrifying to Crowley now.
> 
> I'm actually weak as hell, so if this is longer than a horror short, I would prefer a happy or at least hopeful ending. Filler's choice as to the who/how and why Crowley was made human, though since it's such a shoddy job I'm assuming it's not the Almighty's work. Up to filler if Aziraphale is involved at all, if he knows where Crowley is from the start or is looking for him, etc.
> 
> If Aziraphale does come find him, conflicting feelings of "this is the person that is most important to me, but I can't remember why" and "this is also a strange, terrifying being" would be great, with Aziraphale caught between wanting his Crowley back and sympathizing with Crowley-the-human's fear.
> 
> (I feel like this could be equally as interesting if it's Aziraphale turned human instead, with Angels being eldritch beings beyond human understanding as well... might end up prompting that as well....)"

Anthony knew he was dreaming. He was a world champion sleeper. He once slept for thirteen hours straight. Ezra told him that was nothing to be proud about. Anthony bragged about it anyway. The point is, he had a lot practice. Dreams didn’t frighten him anymore.  
  
Anthony sat on the edge of the bed, perfectly still, as Ezra pulled a long strip of his flesh from his wrist. He wound it around a spindle and set to work. Twisting, around and around it went until Anthony could see the muscle and bone and blood of his arm, all that was meant to stay hidden. Frankly, Anthony preferred the dreams where he was flying.  
  
His entire arm was degloved to the elbow. Ezra smiled and patted his knee. “There, that’ll do for now, my dear. We mustn’t go too hard, too fast.”  
  
Anthony woke. The red numbers glaring at him from his nightstand told him he had 30 minutes until the alarm went off. Terrible timing. Too early to get up, too late to go back to sleep. Just his luck. He turned over. Ezra was curled on his side, his back to him, sleeping like a lamb.  
  
Fucker.  
  
Anthony reluctantly pulled himself out of bed, scratching at his arm as he went. Standing in the morning light, he could see that the skin was red and inflamed. And itchy. Well, that explained the dream, if not where the rash came from. Anthony pried his fingers away and set to making breakfast.  
  
Ezra appeared, as if on cue. He had a way of just appearing when there was food to be had. “There are other spices than just salt,” Ezra commented as he watched Anthony pour more salt than the Atlantic Ocean into his eggs. “You can even add vegetables if you like. Think of the possibilities!”  
  
Anthony stuck his tongue out at the word ‘vegetable.’ He was an adult. He didn’t have to eat his vegetables if he didn’t want to. Ezra smirked and started on the tea. Anthony was a master at cooking eggs: boiled, fried, omelets, benedict. The fact that no matter how Anthony cooked them they always turned out looking suspiciously scrambled was not to be mentioned.  
  
“My dear, is your arm bothering you?”  
  
Anthony yanked his hand away. He’d been scratching again. “Just a rash.”  
  
Ezra hummed. His eyes were fixed on the newspaper, cup of tea in hand. He barely even looked up at Anthony. So much for concern.  
  
“Don’t forget, I’ll be working tonight.”  
  
That made Ezra look up. “But it’s your night off.”  
  
“Jenny has a family thing. I told you that.”  
  
“You don’t even like bartending.”  
  
“Well, then try selling a book for once,” Anthony snapped. “God knows I’d rather be doing something else.”

* * *

They’d won the lottery.  
  
To be fair, Ezra won the lottery, but Ezra was dating Anthony, so... they’d won the lottery. “But you don’t play the lottery,” Anthony protested.  
  
“I just got the urge to try it today,” Ezra said with a sly grin. “It must be a miracle.”  
  
“More like demonic forces,” Anthony quipped.  
  
Ezra’s smile slipped before it managed to right itself. “One in the same, really.”

* * *

His arm felt like it was on fire.  
  
Anthony sat on the edge of the tub, pointedly not looking at his arm. He could feel warm liquid running down the length of his skin as he raked his nails over his flesh. He was bleeding. He dug his nails in harder. He wanted to burrow into the seams and pull out the veins one by one. God, he was going insane.  
  
“Anthony, is everything alright in there? You’ve been locked in there for almost two hours.”  
  
“Just a minute!” He yelled. Ohshitohshitohshit. How was he going to explain this to Ezra? He knew he should have gone to the doctor. Shouldn’t have put it off. Don’t worry, Anthony, it’s just a rash. It’ll go away on its own.  
  
Anthony grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his arm, still refusing to look at the damage he’d done. The pale blue terrycloth was turning an alarming shade of red. You idiot. What did you do to yourself? Face it like a man and fucking look at it.  
  
Anthony unwound the towel from his arm. His skin was white and dry and torn to ribbons. Pieces were dangling from the jagged lines he had cut into himself like curled streamers. Anthony picked at the pieces and pulled. His skin came off in loose sheaves and underneath it was new skin, fresh and pink and unmarked.  
  
Anthony threw the bloodied towel into the tub and closed the curtain. He opened the door and smiled at Ezra’s worried expression. “Nothing to worry about. I’m starving. Let’s go out.”

* * *

Another dream.  
  
Other people might call them nightmares, but despite the horror Anthony never once felt afraid. He could never be afraid of Ezra.  
  
Ezra’s fingers traced the line of his jaw before curling under his chin to tilt his head up, forcing him to stare into those baby blue eyes. Oh, no. How terrible. Whatever would Anthony do.  
  
“You trust me don’t you? You believe me when I say this is for your own good?” Ezra asked. He picked up a pin and stuck it into Anthony’s eye.  
  
The next morning, Anthony noticed something strange while brushing his teeth. He leaned forward until his nose was inches from the mirror, staring into his own eyes. Flecks of yellow dotted the brown iris of his left eye. He was so focused on his reflection that he very nearly missed the long, black _thing_ slithering across the floor and out the door.  
  
Anthony did not scream. Ezra was a liar and shouldn’t be trusted. What he did do was pick up the closest object (a plunger) and went after the thing. Because Anthony was brave and cool, God damn it. He burst into the hallway, his head jerking in every direction. Where did it go? Where did it go?  
  
Ezra bounded up the stairs, his eyes wide with terror. “What is it? What’s wrong? Why did you scream?”  
  
“There is a snake in the house,” Anthony hissed. “And I didn’t scream!”  
  
He and Ezra torn the house upside down looking for it. They didn’t find it. Clearly, snakes were smarter than people thought. Wily little bastards. Anthony glared at the television while Ezra carefully kept his eyes trained on his book. Ezra thought he imagined it.  
  
Secretly, Anthony wondered if he imagined it too.

Three days later and Anthony had very nearly put the Snake Incident out of his head when he got a call from Jenny at 3 am. Car wouldn’t start and could he very please pick her up before she got mugged outside the bar?  
  
“Thanks,” she said as she climbed into the passenger seat. Then she glanced at the dashboard. “It says you’re out of gas.”  
  
Anthony patted the Bentley. “It always says that. The gas gauge is broken.”  
  
“When are you going to get a real car instead of this old antique?”  
  
“I could never replace her!” Anthony protested, scandalized by the thought.  
  
Jenny muttered, “Oh Lord, help me.”  
  
“And, anyway, this antique is doing better than your 2000 Ford Mondeo.”  
  
“Yeah, well, not all of us can have a sugar daddy,” Jenny muttered.  
  
Anthony sputtered. “Excuse me? I was dating Ezra before he won the lottery.”  
  
“Whatever. Forget I said anything.”  
  
“Fine,” Anthony said, which was apparently the wrong answer because Jenny started laying into him.  
  
“Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before you guys broke up! God, I was so stupid. The way you always leaned in to talk to me, flirting with me, giving me stuff. And then fucking Ezra won the fucking lottery and off you trotted after him! You just... you left me!”  
  
“I wasn’t coming on to you!” Anthony snapped. “I just being your friend!”  
  
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I know a fucking seduction when I see it.”  
  
He didn’t. He swore to God he didn’t. What did he do to make her think that? He hadn’t been flirting with her, had he? He hadn’t known. He hadn’t meant to.  
  
Anthony came to a sudden stop in front of Jenny’s house and threw the car in park. Before he could say anything else, Jenny was climbing across the seat and into his lap, her mouth wet and hard against his. She tasted like bourbon. Drinking on the job again. “I don’t care if you’re dating Ezra,” she whispered against his skin. “I love you, God, I love you. If you didn’t tempt me like you do...”  
  
There was something climbing up his ankle, slithering up his pant leg. He could feel scales scrapping against the skin of his thigh.  
  
Anthony pushed her off of him and back into the passenger seat. “Fuck you,” she said. She climbed out and slammed the door.

* * *

So far, this was shaping up to be one of his better dreams.  
  
He was straddling Ezra’s waist, Ezra’s hand on his cock, Ezra’s hands on his back. He pulled him down and kissed him. It was chaste and tasted vaguely of salt. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” Ezra asked. “I didn’t mean to take advantage. The temptation was just too great. I know that if you still remembered... you wouldn’t... not with me... I’m so sorry.”  
  
Anthony leaned down to kiss him again, though it was a bit less chaste this time around. Ezra raked his nails against his back, digging into the flesh like knives.  
  
He woke with a hard on and Ezra was nowhere to be found to take care of it.  
  
Fucker.  
  
Anthony rolled over and felt something poke him in the back. He sat up and saw the nub of a feather poking out of the feather tick. He grabbed at and pulled and where he expected white there was black. Their mattress had been stuffed with crow feathers instead of goose down. No wonder they got it so cheap.  
  
Anthony hauled himself out of bed, still twirling the feather between his fingers as he came down the stairs. Ezra was making breakfast. “Bacon?” He asked hopefully.  
  
“It’s a wonderful day to broaden your horizons,” Ezra said. “Why don’t you try some fruit? There are bananas on the table there, or strawberries, or apples.”  
  
Anthony grumbled but dutifully grabbed an apple from the bowl. He bit into the mealy white flesh and as he chewed, he came to a sudden realization that almost knocked him off his feet. Aziraphale looked behind his shoulder at the strange, abrupt silence. Crowley could only stare helplessly back, his lips parted, eyes wide with shock.


End file.
